


Wardensong

by Haospart



Series: Saving the world sucks sometimes, but at least there's family [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood, Drama, He's equal parts resigned and terrified of his own death and it's sad, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Red Lyrium, Rito faces consequences for using red lyrium, Rito's extremely fatalistic, Shit goes downhill immediately, This'll have a happy ending, Whump, but Rito's got to slog through a lot of shit to get there, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26234872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haospart/pseuds/Haospart
Summary: He's been using Red Lyrium, building his weapons with it and slowly, slowly watching it corrupt him.  Rito's on borrowed time, time he never should have had, and his younger sister, Alta, will save him from himself.  Even if it means airing his secrets to the people he wants to hide them from the most.They'll find a way to save him.  They have to.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford & Male Trevelyan, Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan
Series: Saving the world sucks sometimes, but at least there's family [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885636
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alta is owned by [sith_shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sith_shenanigans) and is a character I love and adore with all my heart, top tier bean and an excellent sister for dealing with Rito's constant stream of bullshit fjaklfa.

He stood, stock still in horrified shock, staring into his sister’s eyes. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. She’d threatened, fought, and argued over it for long enough, he shouldn’t have been surprised that someone would find out sooner or later. He  _ wasn’t _ surprised that someone found out.

But he was  _ dumbfounded _ by the way she’d done it. Alta had threatened to tell people that he’d been slowly, slowly corrupting himself with red lyrium, out of refusal to use any other weapon and for his own bizarre curiosity. It made brilliant, wonderful runes that crushed and twisted and killed with more efficiency than he could ever muster on his own, it destroyed everything at the end of his bow. At both ends of his bow. It was destroying him too.

No he wasn’t surprised that someone found out, he was surprised at his sister, glaring back with a bitter resolve to save him from himself, and the glove gripped like a vice in her hand.

The gloves were off, quite literally, and when he finally tore his eyes from hers, he looked to Cullen. If there was one person on the planet he didn’t want to know it was Cullen. Not when he was struggling with keeping clean of a lyrium addiction of his own. Not when he knew what red lyrium poisoning looked like.

There was nothing that could describe Cullen’s expression in Rito’s mind. Words came to mind. Words like ‘betrayal’, ‘horror’, ‘nausea’, ‘disbelief’. But none of them quite fit. Nothing encompassed the way Cullen’s eyes went wide, the way his skin paled or the stuttering step backwards and the tiny shake of the head.

The ex-templar didn’t look him in the eyes, just stared. Rito followed the gaze down to his own hand, unmasked at last. Crystal, molten with corruption and energy but hard as glass all the same, pulsed with light through his veins. A mockery of the blood that should be running through his hand, and just barely was through the spreading lyrium. It cracked and split skin, replacing torn pieces with yet more of the accursed substance.

It bled up his forearm like a shattered mirror, only it was his body that was shattering, degrading under the repeated, prolonged use of red lyrium in his weapons, carrying it around as though it were harmless as a flower.

_ Pretty _ would be inaccurate except in the most macabre senses. Even disregarding that it would kill him,  _ was _ killing him if ever so slowly, the light  _ swam _ like blood, dripping under the polished surface of the lyrium.

“What have you done?”

Finally Cullen met his eyes, and Rito put a word to the emotions twisting across the man’s face.  _ Heartbreak _ . Heartbreak.

“What have you  _ done _ , Rito?”

And he found he didn’t have an answer, just a mumbled apology. For what he didn’t know. For hiding it, for using red lyrium in the first place, for letting his sister catch him off guard. Only a soft, “I’m sorry,” as Cullen grabbed his wrist with a crushing grip.

The pain almost knocked him off his feet, it pulsed from his wrist up to his elbow and radiated with a force he hadn’t felt before. Rito doubled half over, bent his knees and curled in on himself, and pulled at Cullen’s hand with his good one, “Not so hard- hurts, it’s fragile-”

Cullen’s grip loosened, and the pain subsided to its dull, pulsing normal.

Then it hit him that there was no coming back from this one. Cullen wouldn’t keep it a secret, not from the rest of the advisors at the very least. Leliana and Josephine would know, and Cassandra would find out either at the same time or soon after. She was kept apprised of everything. This wouldn’t be a secret anymore. If Cassandra knew, Varric would, and it would travel around from there.

Dorian was going to kill him for it and then cry and  _ that _ would be its own form of retribution for his stupidity.

And he hadn’t told Alta that his hand was  _ fragile _ , that it  _ hurt _ . Fucking- shit. Everything was falling apart, he couldn’t play dumb. He couldn’t feign ignorance. He’d been hiding this, actively concealing what he was doing and the consequences, and there was no going back. The cat was out of the bag, and the cat was never going back in.

  
What was he supposed to do  _ now? _


	2. Sometimes You End Up Stabbing Your Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyrium does unfortunate things to a mind, and Rito doesn't have a terribly good outlook on his survival. That won't exactly stop the people that care about him from caring about him.
> 
> Also Cullen gets fuckin stabbed so that's fun.

So, the cat was out of the bag. As if at this stage it was going to remain a secret for long. Once Cullen knew, it was all over. Alta had panicked at the look on Cullen’s face, rushing to defend Rito for something he’d brought on himself, to defend him  _ from _ Cullen. She had said that he hadn’t understood what he was doing, hadn’t known what he was getting into or the degree to which his actions were affecting him.

Either she didn’t really know, or she was lying for him. Either way he was grateful for the immediate, although ultimately unnecessary, rally behind him. She was his heart, and had he not been too stricken with the dawning realization that his delicately built charade was falling apart around him he would have smiled at the immediacy of her excuses and deflections. She’d revealed him--to one of the few people he wanted to keep it hidden from--and the betrayal stung, but instead of flinching at her fear of what templar remained in Cullen she had surged forwards to protect her brother from retribution.

At least it was all done with love.

His hand cracked and snapped if he forced it to move, fracturing the small crystals of red lyrium snaking up his arm and creating a shatter-pattern on his skin. His smallest and ring fingers had already completely crystalized up to the second knuckle and the process worked its way up towards his palm, the two fingers locked in a permanent curl at exactly the position he held his bow in. The crystal was vaguely translucent, like looking through a polished piece of red quartz, though it also glowed faintly, casting a bloody tint onto the surrounding skin, and a soft, red light on Rito’s clothes when he got close enough to the material.

He could still move the arm, though he was slowly losing that ability. As more and more of his skin and muscle crystallized, it became more and more difficult to flex and stretch like he used to. He was getting worse.

Cullen, after blinking rather owlishly at Alta’s defensive outburst and taking a moment to compose himself, let the small trio process a miniscule portion of what had just happened, had directed his question to Rito: “Does anyone else know?”

The shamed shaking of the head, the way that his shoulders rose to his ears and the way Rito refused to meet Cullen’s eye again said it all. Rito added though, for good measure, “The only people that know are in this room. It’s just us.”

“Not Blackwall? Not even Dorian?”

“Not even Dorian,” it was barely a whisper, barely could be considered talking at all, “How would I tell him what I’ve done?”

“ _ Rito _ , why would you hide this? This type of lyrium, Varric said it was  _ blighted _ , why would you hide it?” How soft Cullen’s voice was, as though it would only take a moment or a touch to shatter Rito completely.

To be completely fair, it might have.

Rito shrugged, noncommittal, “I face things that will hurt me every day. I’m in danger every day,” he glanced up at Alta, though couldn’t meet her eyes, then looked stubbornly away.

“This war was going to kill me anyways. I might as well keep fighting in it and be  _ useful _ while I wait,” he ground out, teeth clenched and blinking back tears he knew would fall if he looked at his sister’s face.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you die?” Alta demanded. Her voice pulled Rito in, but he still refused to look at her, pointedly glaring at the floor.

“You may not have a  _ choice _ .”   
  
“Bullshit! Bullshit, I don’t have that choice! We’ll think of something,  _ anything _ . You are  _ not _ giving up on me like this!”

Rito whirled on her, finally looking her, dead in the eyes. He lost the battle against the tears, and they slipped down his cheeks, hot and angry. Alta didn’t like to lose, and she didn’t give up, but her persistence grated on his nerves, “What are we supposed to do about something like this? It’s the  _ Blight _ and it’s swimming inside me, it’s been growing and spreading, and it’s never gotten any better. What  _ else _ do I do other than accept it and move on?”

Alta huffed, frustration seeping out of her, “We start looking for a solution! You don’t get to just lay down and die because you have lyrium in your hand, you don’t get to just  _ do that _ \--”

“Stop,” Cullen had recovered, evidently, and decided to step in. He took a few purposeful steps up to Rito and mustered all the  _ presence _ he could to get between the two and get them to silence themselves.

Alta resisted, went to say something else, but Cullen was already ignoring her. He commanded Rito’s full attention almost immediately.

“Take the tunic off.”

Rito blinked, confused, “Do what?”

“Take the tunic off, Rito. I need to see how bad it is,” the archer protested, marginally, but Cullen had a hand on his jaw in a moment, forcing him to look the commander dead in the eyes, “Do it. Now.”

“Yessir,” Rito breathed, startled out of his protest and intimidated into the rest. He’d forgotten just what Cullen could be like, when he put his mind to it. He forgot that Cullen had once been a Templar, and as such a truly terrifying force when he wanted to be.

He stripped out of the tunic. Devesting himself of the vested overcoat was done in a snap, and it followed his lockpicking kit to the ground. The tunic itself was removed slower, hesitant,  _ scared _ .

He pulled it over his head.

The damage, truly, finally, was revealed.

The lyrium was so much further than either of the other two occupants could have imagined, it had seemed as though it might simply end part way up the forearm, the jagged red crystal had started to thin near the end of his sleeve, but it was only the tip of the iceberg. It thinned, for certain, but just above where his sleeve had ended was another thick, deep chunk of lyrium, and it forked up his arm in thick lightning-strike patterns. It was a miracle he could bend his elbow at all, let alone use it as normally as he did.

It explained the cracking that happened whenever he bent his elbow, which he’d played off easily as bones popping. No, he broke through the lyrium each time he wanted to bend his arm freely, and there were cracks in the crystal from the repeated fracturing and strain. It continued, upwards, to the top of his bicep.

It was three times as far along as he’d claimed, when he’d spoken to Alta about it, when he’d tried to reassure her, argue that he needed to continue on as he was. What was visible on his hand alone was frightening, a vigorous infection of red lyrium, but the reality? He’d lied about it. Looked her in the eye and promised that it was fine.

He’d lied about it and  _ expected _ to die anyways, and much sooner than he’d let on.

She marched out, didn’t touch him, didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. She called back, to the air, “I’m going to the library,” and then the door was thrown open. Frost trailed in her wake, and the door grew ice crystals rapidly when she touched it. It slammed shut behind her, with a sound like shattering glass as shards of ice buckled and dislodged under the force. They fell to the floor and smashed into a thousand pieces, leaving only Cullen, Rito, and the aftermath of Alta’s fury.

“That went well,” Rito muttered. Really he shouldn’t have expected any different. She’d chewed him out for lying about it the first time, threatened to expose him to their closest confidants if he didn’t stop his usage of the red lyrium, and then  _ followed through _ when he refused to quit. And he’d lied to her again. What had she said? ‘ _ You weren’t supposed to lie to  _ _ me _ _ ’ _ or something of that sort.

And he’d done it again, about something she’d already expressed displeasure over his dishonesty for. She’d already known about the lyrium and the corruption slowly taking him over, she’d already known so  _ why had he hidden the truth _ . What could have possibly possessed him to  _ continue _ to lie?

He knew why, of course. If she’d ever found out how bad it  _ really _ was, which she was bound to, she would have been furious, which she was. It was exactly that kind of pain he’d wanted to save her from. Or that’s what he told himself. The reasonings he’d concocted for hiding the corruption made less and less sense the more he gave in to the nagging, twisting urge to shield everyone from it.

It was to protect them, of course it was. But why didn’t that make any sense?

It hurt to think about.

“Rito.”

He startled, breaking out of his thoughts and flinching violently at Cullen’s intrusion. The man had his hands up, a pacifying gesture.  _ Why didn’t it calm him? _

“Rito, I think we all need a break, a moment to process. I’m going to tell Leli-”

“No! Don’t tell them!” It came out more vicious, more desperate than he intended, though he hadn’t intended on speaking at all. Rito took a hesitant step back, a shuffle like a cornered, wounded animal. It hurt to think, but he didn’t want anyone else to know, that hurt  _ more _ , and it agitated a corner of his mind that he rarely, if ever, tapped into.

Cullen took a slow step forward, arms open like a friend, because they  _ were _ friends, but he continued on, “Rito, please. I can’t just keep this under wraps. It won’t end well,” the commander spoke truth, simple and pure, but it stung like the heartbroken expression Cullen was still wearing on his face under the reasonable words.

“ _ You _ won’t end well,” Rito hissed, it hurt and his hand found the knife he kept strapped to his thigh at all times. It took next to nothing to unsheathe it and launch himself at Cullen’s open stance, the small dagger clutched in his one good hand.

It surprised the commander, and the larger man stumbled back to avoid the haphazard, desperate slash of the blade. He skipped the next strike off his forearm, lucky that he wore his armor as his everyday clothing. It scraped the vambrace with a shower of sparks, and the surprise of the attack finally wore off.

On the next strike, Cullen deflected with a palm on Rito’s wrist and grabbed at his forearm to hold the weapon, and Rito, still. Unfortunately, the archer wasted no time on taking the closeness as the opportunity it was and kicked Cullen’s knee from the inside. The commander’s leg went out from under him and as he strove to regain balance Rito put a powerful knee into his side.

Rito cuffed him across the face with the elbow of his lyrium-infected arm, using the upswing to grab the knife, albeit clumsily, from the entrapped hand. Blood gushed from Cullen’s nose, it was a good hit, and although it had been clumsy every step was calculated to take down someone bigger and stronger than the archer.

Giving up on finding balance again, Cullen put his weight and grip on his desk and swept his unbalanced leg across and under. Rito collapsed on his side, legs suddenly out from underneath him. He twisted to orient himself, but by then Cullen had managed to right himself enough to scramble to pin the wild archer with perhaps less regard for safety than he should have had.

It earned Cullen a dagger lodged in the shoulder, the slicing of flesh as the dagger pushed in and stayed there. With a heave, he put a hand on each of Rito’s forearms and shoved them  _ down _ , in as uncomfortable a position as he could manage. Rito pulled and struggled but calmed abruptly, looking up at Cullen’s face with wide, surprised eyes.

Cullen remained, sat on Rito’s thighs and forcing his arms into the stone floor with painful force, dripping blood onto Rito’s face and bare, heaving stomach.

“ _ Oh _ ,” was all Rito said, as he took in the position and situation they were in.

His eyes trailed down to the dagger, buried deep in between the facets of Cullen’s armor. Another good shot, if a lucky one.

“I- Cullen, I don’t- I’m sorry,” Rito fumbled for the breathy words, shaking his head and looking the commander up and down to assess the damage. It took another moment and a resigned, defeated expression for him to gather up the next words, breathed like speaking it aloud would damn him more than whatever  _ this _ had been would, “I think you should tell the others. I just, I’m  _ sorry _ . I don’t know why-  _ why did I do that?” _

“I’m not letting you up until I’m sure whatever that was is out of your system.”

And so they waited, for another few long, long minutes. When Cullen was satisfied that whatever violent episode or urge that had overtaken Rito had subsided, he let the younger man up.

Rito backed up immediately into a corner of the room, arms crossed and making himself as small as he could manage, despite his height. On the way he snatched up his vested overcoat. He fit his arms through the armholes of the thick piece of wool and redressed himself a slight bit before returning to the miserable stance.

His arm cracked and popped when he moved it, and fractures appeared on the surface of the lyrium crystal, the only allowance Rito was receiving for the movement.

“Any more weapons on you?”

Rito shook his head, a negative, and with that Cullen proceeded to ignore him, stripping out of his armor. Cullen poked a head out onto the battlements to request something, what it was Rito was too wrapped up in his own head to hear, but the door shut once again. Cullen resumed the arduous task of liberating himself of his armor around the dagger, which hadn’t moved in all that time since Rito had stabbed him.

_ Rito had stabbed him. _

It wasn’t some bandit out on the road. It wasn’t darkspawn or demons, or the Red Templars. It was  _ Rito _ and  _ Rito stabbed Cullen. _

The door opened, the same one that Alta had exited only minutes before, and in marched the local suspiciously upbeat, dramatic tevinter mage, with a few small bottles of healing potion.

“Well, what have you gotten into this time, that you need healing in your office? And why a request for me specifically?”

Oh that stung, twisted Rito’s heart. Cullen had sent for Dorian, specifically, knowing that they were involved. Perhaps for his installation in the library, more probably as the person Rito was least likely to attack if his mind failed him again.

“Firstly, I need you to pull this out,” Cullen gestured vaguely to Rito’s dagger, and leaned up against his desk, facing Dorian, “You will get an explanation when it’s out.”

The mage raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, “Alright, a bizarre framing for a request but I suppose I’ve had stranger. You look like you lost a bar fight.”

Another moment and it was done, Rito’s dagger in Dorian’s hand and a healing potion downed by the commander. Dorian examined the dagger, turned it over in his hands and furrowed his brows. It would only take so long before- “This is Rito’s. What is it doing in your shoulder?”

And there it was. Shit. Better get it over with, in one fell swoop.

“Because I put it there,” Maker, how hard it was to make any noise at all, let alone bring his voice above a whisper. Tears again gathered in his eyes, before Dorian could even turn around. He tried to blink them away, only succeeding in freeing them and turning his own stomach. He didn’t have to put much into imagining what Dorian’s reaction would be. Probably not much better than Alta’s.

And then he turned around, twisted to look, perplexed at Rito’s defensive, unsure position as far from Cullen as the archer could manage.

Dorian’s eyes widened, taking in the bare skin and red lyrium of Rito’s left arm and Rito choked out his next words, “ _ Dorian _ . Dorian, I’m  _ sorry _ . I’m  _ so sorry _ .”

“ _ No _ , no no no, no what’s  _ happened _ to you?” the mage took a few steps towards Rito, who took a step back. The hurt on Dorian’s face-

“Dagger down,” Rito clarified, soft, “I don’t care where you put it but I- I shouldn’t have it right now, I think. I don’t trust this to- I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they had the dagger was tossed away, and Dorian advanced, never taking his eyes off of Rito, or the crackling crystal twisting up his arm in jagged progression.

“Is that-?”

“Red lyrium? Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t- didn’t tell you,” Rito pushed a palm into his eyes, rubbing at his eyes furiously to slow the progression of the tears down his face.

“Didn’t tell me- Rito, how long have you had this?” Dorian shook his head, slowly, and made it finally to the archer.

Rito hiccuped, sniffed again, “A long time. More than, more than a month. Maybe two, I don’t know. It’s been- I don’t know. Long enough. It’s  _ blighted _ and it’s  _ spreading _ . I didn’t think it was affecting my head as much but I just tried to… to…” he trailed off, stared down at the corrupted light pulsing underneath his skin and through the blood-red crystal that his hand was slowly becoming, “ _ I just tried to kill Cullen to keep him from telling anyone. _ ”

“This is why your sister stormed into the library, isn’t it?”

“She doesn’t know I stabbed Cullen. She… left… before that. She knew about it, for only a short period, didn’t know it was this  _ bad _ though. I lied to her about that. I- she saw how far the lyrium had gotten and left. We argued before that. I don’t blame her.”

“ _ Vishante kaffas _ ,  _ Rito _ . I knew you would break my heart, I  _ knew it _ ,” Dorian’s voice was thick, twisted and sad, and he rubbed angrily at his own face, frustration pouring off of him.

“I’m sorry-”

“You had better be. I  _ knew _ it would be  _ you, amatus _ . You’d be the one to tear my heart into pieces,” and so did the other mage storm out of the room, back towards the library.

Silence reigned for a few more moments, during which Cullen eyed Rito.

“Not going to pull another weapon on me?” he asked, a tentative attempt at levity, under the circumstances.

“No more weapons to pull. But I think whatever it was is gone for now.”

The hum from Cullen was underwhelming at best, a soft and neutral presence. Rito slowly moved from his corner, keeping his head down, to pick up his tunic. He attempted to wipe Cullen’s blood from his front, though managed primarily to smear it around and spread it to his hands. He wiped his hands off on his pants then slowly redressed fully.

His glove had vanished with Alta, who stormed off with it still clutched angrily in her hand, so he had to make do without. When he’d finally managed to regain some semblance of composure, he looked Cullen in the eyes, “I’m going down to the stables I’m- I’m so sorry. For everything I’ve brought on us. This- this is my fault. I did this to myself and I just- I didn’t think it would get this far. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for stabbing you. And for your nose.”

And he left, across the battlements where he leapt with practiced precision to the roof of the barn that Blackwall seemed to live in. He slid down the other side of the roof, and dropped down on top of the stables, then hopped out of sight.

In the library, a three-mage team sorted and scoured the books. Dorian was busy throwing books that seemed irrelevant over the railing, barely remembering to call out a warning to Solas as the first few sailed over the wood and into the room below. He managed to conscript Solas in the research though, telling him to return any books to him that mentioned the Blight. Alta sat with a book, flipping furiously through the pages.

It didn’t take long after that for the furious research of the Tower to reach Varric’s ears, even as Cullen headed off to inform the rest of the entourage of what had happened. To inform them of Rito’s hidden struggle against the Red Lyrium that was corrupting his body and, to a less visible extent, his mind.

Blackwall found Rito later that day, leaned up against the wild hart he used as a mount, fast asleep. His infected hand lay against the animal’s flank, no longer glowing or pulsing, simply existing as a solid, and most importantly not  _ growing _ . The hart curled around Rito protectively. It looked up at Blackwall and huffed a hot breath out its nostrils. Its normally murderous look softened a bit, though it would certainly be dangerous to approach. Nothing would make it past that deer, and peace had found Rito sleeping against it.

Blackwall let them be, he would give Rito updates on their research tomorrow. Perhaps, in the night, they would find something to save him. It might take weeks, but there would be sparse rest in the library until something could be done for Rito’s life. If nothing else, there were three mages invested in his survival, and none of them were the sort to quit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hart's name is Spider, bc Rito thought it would help him get over his crippling phobia of spiders.
> 
> It didn't, but that deer is *awesome* so like, yeah. I love him. Good deer.


	3. The Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red Lyrium is a hell of a thing to have in the mind, and Rito's run away from his problems before, literally.

He would be gone in the morning. He'd made sure of that.

He lifted a knife off some poor merchant’s cart, a somewhat sturdy, practical little blade. He stowed it in the sheath tied to his leg, replacing the one he’d attacked Cullen with. The knife would be missed in the morning, but not by much. Not enough to warrant a full investigation of who had taken it.

Then again, if they were smart, they’d be able to put the pieces together and see that he’d stolen it. He’d be long gone by then anyways, so it wasn’t like it would really matter in the long run. If he did this right, he would be nothing more than a breath in the wind to the people here by the time the sun rose in the sky.

_ He had to leave. Had to go before anyone else got hurt. _

It hurt, physically, a sharp, throbbing pain in his head when he thought about people knowing what he’d done. It was a haze over his mind and it pulled the bite of frustration and anxiety up from his chest into his throat.

No one could know.

_ Everyone _ would know.

So he had to leave. Had to  _ run _ .

The demon, the  _ Nightmare _ in the Fade had been right all along then. He  _ would _ run away again. He'd done it before, when he couldn't stand courtly life anymore and could no longer handle the expectations of being a noble's son. Rito was doing it again, following the all-consuming insistence in his head that told him to get away. It was a desperate, clawing need.

He couldn't stand to think of the alternatives. Each new possibility seemed more horrible than the last, and when he tried to rebuff the anxious grip on his heart with  _ fact _ , pain lit up behind his eyes.

_ 'Cullen will kill you' _ had its rebuttal, that Cullen  _ hadn't _ killed him even when he'd stabbed him, killed under an unreasonable wall of fear. Logic died under that fear, and left only the urgent need to flee. It was familiar. Too familiar. But he couldn't push through it.

So he didn't. 

Instead he made his way back to the stables and slipped in, without making a sound. Assassin’s training was a hell of a boost when it came to stealth, and he couldn’t risk waking Blackwall.

Spider was wide awake though, the massive wild hart was up on his feet and watching silently in the dark.

“Hello,” Rito whispered to the animal as he approached and gave him a gentle pat on the nose, “I need your help with something.”

Spider flicked an ear forwards and dipped his head to receive the affection, bumping his nose under Rito's chin and against his cheek.

Rito huffed a breath of a laugh and took a step forward to unlatch the stall, “We’re leaving.”

The deer snorted, made a low sound deep in his throat and blew air out his nose. Then snorted again, his entire focus on Rito.

“Oh don’t give me that look,” he shot back, quietly gathering the riding gear from the wall, “We have to- I don’t know. I have to leave. I can’t stay. I  _ have _ to go. I’ve done enough damage here, so it’s time to go. I’ve been  _ found out _ and I have to- we have to  _ go _ -”

Spider shoved him on the shoulder, interrupting the downward spiral his rambling was taking.

For the barest moment, the fog in his mind and the overwhelming anxiety eased, and he leaned into the pressure on his shoulder. He heaved a sigh and dragged his infected hand down his face, tired in ways that ran deeper than bone. The relief didn’t last long and he turned back to Spider, “Thank you but we still-  _ I _ still have to go. I’m taking you with me though. I won’t get far without you and I need to go quickly.”

The animal made no more protests, but watched Rito closely as the young man slowly, oh-so quietly, tacked him up. It took longer than usual, both due to the need for stealth, and the somewhat stilted way that Rito moved his left arm. He was careful with it, refused to move it beyond the point where it resisted. That would cause cracking, popping in the lyrium, and he was making enough noise with the leather on Spider’s gear as it was.

“Ok, done,” he said finally, and stepped away. Spider watched him, turned his head to stare and get a good look at him.

Rito’s brow was pulled down in anxiety. He always looked anxious or sad, it was just the way his face naturally fell, but he looked especially troubled. His eyes, usually sharp pinpoints of bright fire in his somewhat severe features, were dulled. It almost seemed there was a layer of frost over his awareness, clouding it.

A layer of crystal, more like. Spider huffed a breath out his nose, but followed as Rito led him out of the stables and across to Skyhold’s singular, massive gate. The only entrance.

Rito paused there, a quiet, distressed noise bubbling up from his chest. He was  _ leaving _ , he was  _ doing _ what this pulling, compelling fear told him to.  _ Why didn’t he feel better? _ He stood frozen for a few horrible moments, his heart in his throat. It felt like years, but it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. It might have been seconds,  _ minutes _ at most, but it felt like years staring out across that bridge.

He shook himself free and took in a shaking breath, then turned back to Spider.

“Now or never,” he mumbled, and pulled himself up into the saddle.

_ But what about Alta? _

The thought hit him with enough force to steal his breath away. In a sudden moment of clarity.

What would happen to Alta? How would she react to this? The last time they'd spoken to each other--earlier in the day--they'd  _ fought _ . He'd fought with his sister over his stupid decisions. Over his resignation.

Over his survival.

She refused to believe that he couldn't be saved but this- if he left she wouldn't really have that kind of choice. Not even the illusion of saving him. He'd just be gone.

The Nightmare said it would break her.  _ Running _ , the demon had called it, being coy about his rapidly approaching expiration date while in the Fade. Back when it was still a secret.

If he  _ stayed _ \- but a sharp, blistering heat,  _ pain _ , lit up in his head and his arm. The left one, the  _ infected _ one, not that he cared much to note down that particular detail. It  _ hurt _ to think of staying, to think that Alta would be better off if he  _ didn't _ run away again.

She was strong, right? Stronger than him, at least. She had friends, and people who would support her even if they weren't friends, and she was smart. She could handle herself.

Right?

A good kid. Good sister. Good  _ person _ . He was a dead man anyway, she'd survive it and he was gone whether he left or not.

He had to believe it. He had to believe she'd be alright after he was gone if he was going to go through with this. If he was really going to run away again.

_ Again _ . Running away from his problems  _ again _ . The runaway.  _ Predictable _ .

He growled and curled forwards in the saddle. Frustration and confusion went hand in hand and he couldn't seem to extricate this fun, new brand of self-loathing from the fear that discovery brought him. A fear that  _ seemed _ inane and unfounded, but that fighting only brought pain and a more immediate, infuriating sense of anxiety.

He let anger seep in, hot and burning, and forced himself upright.

"Now. Or. Never," he ground out, between clenched teeth and with a newfound wetness on his cheeks, "And never isn't an option."

  
He urged Spider forward, and the wild hart complied. The animal's ears, flicked back against his head, betrayed his own irritation. He would do this, for Rito.  _ For now _ .


	4. In The Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall discovers the lack of Rito and Spider, and has to go tell Rito's sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my drafts this chapter is titled 'BLACKWALL FINDS OUT THAT RITO'S ASS IS G O N E' which tells you about _my_ naming scheme lmfao.

Waking up to an empty stall, bare of riding equipment and of one shitty, pissed-off asshole of a giant deer, was not the relief to Blackwall that it might have been in another life. 

Hell, on any other  _ day _ it would have been fine. But not this one. Not even a day and a half after Rito's violent, lyrium-driven episode in Cullen's office. Emotions were too high, and Rito wasn't expecting to survive to face the future. The self-admitted runaway being  _ gone _ , and with his mount and all the gear to boot, wasn't a good sign. That damned deer wouldn't go anywhere without Rito, and no one would be fool enough to try and take him either. So their local, infected archer had gone off somewhere. Likely on his own.

And of course, it would fall on Blackwall to break the news to the tower of mages who  _ cared  _ about the kid.

Maker preserve him.

Not that he didn't care about Rito too. He loved the kid. They were friends, and even when Blackwall himself had taken off into the night, Rito had managed to show up not even moments after he'd gotten himself in real, proper trouble to bring him home again. Nothing he could ever do would be worth that kind of friendship.

But he also wasn't too keen on facing down Rito's  _ sister _ . Or  _ Dorian _ , who with Rito's lack of subtlety hadn't managed to keep his affections private for very long. Or even Solas, with whatever odd, comfortable relationship Rito had managed to form with him over the months.

These people cared about him, were actively working towards saving him. And Blackwall had to tell them the object of their heroic intentions had  _ vanished _ .

_ Fantastic. _

_ Fuck _ .

Well, no time quite like the present to face a tower of dangerous mages who all happened to be emotionally invested in the AWOL young man that had become his best friend. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them and getting the blood flowing, a slightly nervous action that helped him focus his mind. It also struck him that he’d have to go through  _ Cullen’s _ office to get to the library, and to the level that he’d left Dorian and Alta on. Just another fantastic moment in his already  _ fantastic _ day. And it wasn’t even noon yet.

Maybe if he got lucky, Cullen would be off doing something else and he could reach the library without having to talk to anyone first.

Either way, he started that unhappy, worried trek up to the library.

Rito  _ missing _ … not good. He’d previously confided in him, sat up in the rafters while Blackwall worked on a children’s toy, about his regrets. He’d regretted leaving his sister behind when he ran away from his home, from the  _ Trevelyan _ home. He hadn’t regretted  _ leaving _ overall, but it stuck out in his mind as something to be ashamed of.

But it had been lonely, and it had been stifling, and he’d never met expectations in any way that was meaningful. Always a few steps behind, a little too late on the uptake for the intricacies of courtly life. He missed cues, and withdrew from the friendly touches that were really a mocking mask over an animosity that he couldn’t see. He wasn’t  _ safe _ in that kind of life.

Running had been the better option. His last words to his older sister before he ran, his last words to Odri before he skipped town in the middle of the night, had been angry ones.

It painted a worrying picture. A young man incapable of facing his own failings and who instead did his best to avoid them. When they became unavoidable in the space, he left. Except he  _ hadn’t _ been running recently. With Bull, for example, he’d made efforts to talk--however awkwardly--with Bull on occasion. Their relationship was strained, unbalanced and fragile. Yet even if it ended in a stilted goodbye and a grimace as Rito left to bother Krem instead, he was still making that  _ effort _ . An effort to face what he feared. An effort to face his missteps and difficulties.

But he wasn’t thinking straight. He was falling into an older pattern of thinking, and a newer, more desperate one as well.

Lucky for Blackwall, Cullen actually hadn’t been in his office, and he’d managed to pass through without a problem. The library door was in front of him before he could really register that he’d moved to it.

He took a breath in and put his hand on the door, feeling the grain of the wood under his hand for a moment, the expertly refined surface of the wood, sanded and finished with the hand of a skilled woodworker, even if it was a quickly done job of repairing the original work.

But he'd stalled long enough. He pushed the door open, hesitant to see what he'd find.

What he found was two very tired mages, and if he looked over the rail he'd have seen a third, entirely asleep amongst a small nest of books.

Dorian was drifting off in his chair, could barely be considered  _ conscious  _ at all, but for the clumsy, absent way he turned the page of the book in his lap. Many more lay scattered at his feet. He was almost sprawled in that chair of his, slumped with his head tilted forwards toward the book only marginally. An entire night of research had evidently taken its toll.

Though, it hadn't done on Dorian quite the number it had done on  _ Alta _ . She was face down on the table, head in a book, a hand loosely holding a small portion of her own short, red hair and with her other arm tucked in front of her, obscuring her face. She was asleep, thoroughly, but it didn't look at all restful.

Blackwall approached, slow and steady. His apprehension gave his steps a lethargic sort of gait, but he pushed on nonetheless. He put a hand on Alta's upper arm, gently, and went down on one knee next to the table. He needed to make sure he wasn't standing  _ above _ her when she woke up.

He shook her arm, ever so soft, "My lady, I-" he paused, frowning, then amended, " _ Alta _ . There's something you need to know."

Watching her come around, lifting her head, waking up blearily and seeing the red blotchiness on her cheeks, the slightly swollen eyes--she'd cried herself to sleep, overtop of a book she'd tried so hard to work through--it cracked his heart, and this next step wouldn't be any more fun. Telling her that her brother had evidently taken off wouldn't be fun. He steeled himself, took a deep breath and looked away to gather himself before looking Alta Trevelyan in the eyes.

"Rito's gone. And so is that deer of his and all the riding gear. He took off in the middle of the night."

For a horrible moment, looking into her eyes was like watching her fall apart. Except it wasn't. It was a cold,  _ empty _ sort of horror in her before she brought her brows together and her eyes narrowed. That empty numbness took only a moment to become  _ clarity _ . If you'd passed a whetstone over her face you'd have had the same result, a sharpness fell over her and focused her.

"Find him."

She planted her hands on the table and rose to her feet in one smooth, sturdy movement. Alta shook the last vestiges of sleep out of her head, giving Blackwall a stern, commanding look. Fury burned behind her gaze and scorched him, "Do what you must, Blackwall, but  _ find him. _ "

“Of course.”

He turned and strode over to the railing, looking up to the next floor as he did so and called up to it, urgent, “Leliana? Are you up there?”

“I am, Blackwall,” the spymaster’s voice came down, and he saw her peek over the edge to catch a glimpse of him.

“Good, we need scouts, lots of them. Rito rode off in the middle of the night on his hart and we need him back,” he cast a sympathetic look at Dorian’s noise of surprise as the man fell out of his chair with the shock, but carried on, “The kid’s going to get himself killed running off like this, and he’s not thinking right. I’m going to see if I can’t find Cole. If anyone would have a clue what’s going on in his head right now, maybe have a heading, it’s him.”

Orders delivered, he turned back and pulled Dorian to his feet, muttering a half-formed apology and then he took off back towards the door. He had work to do. People to gather and a Compassion spirit to find.


End file.
